


support (or, when things go wrong but someone's actually there)

by necromantrix



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, polyship, they're all good good supportive boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 10:09:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8975341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necromantrix/pseuds/necromantrix
Summary: “I want to cook."

  The words cut through the silence suddenly, and both Brad and Kravitz look at Taako, Brad’s hands on the dishes and Kravitz’ fingers in blonde hair both halting their movements.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, @rockportlimited on twitter started the Bradko train, and then my mind just fucking... ran with that to Braakitz extremes. Welcome to my hell. I love these supportive boyfriends. They are good and pure.

       “What, uh. What do we do?” Kravitz asks Brad in a whisper, glancing worriedly over to where Taako is sitting in the floor in the kitchen. The counters are a mess—the wizard even moreso—but he told them to back off and give him space and they both did.

       “I don’t know,” Brad admits, not as good at whispering as any of them would like, but it’ll do.

       “You’re the HR guy, aren’t you?”

       “Yes, I’m _the HR guy_ but I don’t appreciate the assumption that I should always know what to do, Kravitz. You know what they say about assuming.” Normally these words, from _anyone else_ , would be abrasive and rude, but there’s something so openly honest about Brad that it’s impossible to find him rude. If anything, he’s endearing.

       Kravitz sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It makes an ass out of you and me, I know. _Anyways_. Ideas. You’re… you’re good at talking. Maybe we could, uh, just try that? I hate seeing him down like this…”

       “So do I.” The half-orc takes in a deep breath and crosses back over to the kitchen, Kravitz following, and both settle down on either side of Taako. “Hey,” he begins, his tone soft and gentle as he rests a hand on Taako’s shoulder. Taako doesn’t shrug it off, but he does tighten his grip on the hem of his skirt, refusing to look at either of them.

       “There’s nothing wrong with being unable to do this,” Brad continues. “The fact that you even _tried_ at all is brave and admirable. No one can fault you for this when you did your best.”

       “My best,” Taako repeats derisively through a sniffle. “I’m being fucking _ridiculous,_ y’know. Like, cooking is _nothing,_ I did it _all the time_ for _years._ And—and now I have no reason not to be able to! Not a single damn reason! But here I am! Crying on the kitchen floor with the Motivation Brigade fawning all over me!”

       Kravitz’ expression sets into a frown as he gently wipes Taako’s tears with his thumbs and cups his face in both of his hands. “Listen, Taako. You’re not ridiculous by a long shot. Shit happens. It happens in the astral plane, and it _definitely_ happens in the material one. I would know.” He presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, and he’s relieved to feel Taako relax into the kiss and Brad’s touch on his shoulder. “No one can ask more than your best from you.”

       The trio is silent for a moment, the only sound that of the faucet that wasn’t turned all the way off amid the rapid breakdown of Taako’s mental state. Brad stands up to begin cleaning up, first shutting off the dripping faucet before he begins to gather all the dirtied dishes.

       “I want to cook.”

       The words cut through the silence suddenly, and both Brad and Kravitz look at Taako, Brad’s hands on the dishes and Kravitz’ fingers in blonde hair both halting their movements.

       “I’m _going_ to cook,” he says, changing tact. He stands (Kravitz follows suit) and snatches the ladle from Brad’s hand, prestidigitating the mess away before he casts a critical eye around the kitchen. “Biscuits. Simple ingredients but an involved to-do.”

       He takes one step towards the fridge before both of his… boyfriends? _Yeah, boyfriends._ He takes one step towards the fridge before both of his boyfriends say “We’ll help.” They’re all three silent, and then just like that the tension dissipates and Taako begins easily delegating tasks to the two of them.

       He doesn’t trust them with anything involving _cooking_ , oh _hell no_. They’ve both tried cooking before and it’s always been a disaster (according to Taako—they’ve always found it to be edible, for the most part). But small tasks such as measuring and finding ingredients they can and do handle, and they handle them well.

       Whenever Taako’s hands begin to shake or threaten to drop something, Kravitz is there to hold them until they’re steady; whenever his resolve begins to waver and the panic seeps into his expression, Brad is there to remind him that he’s made it this far and that he can do this.

       Besides a few almost-meltdowns, the cooking is a blur of smalltalk and smiling and throwing flour at each other and reprimanding about the dangers over over-mixing, and before they know it the biscuits are done without a hint of magic. They’re placed on a cooling rack, and all three men stare at them in silence. Taako stands in the middle, Brad’s arm around his shoulders and Kravitz’ arm around his waist, and he’s pretty sure that if they weren’t there to support him so well he’d fall over.

       The biscuits look and smell delicious, but… “There’s still a test,” Taako says, his voice as shaky as his body. Kravitz’ other hand grips Taako’s, placing something cool and glass in his grasp. He looks down and lets out a hollow laugh when he sees the salt shaker. “You’re _way_ too in-the-know of my backstory, my man. My men. Both of you.” He laughs again, less tonelessly, and Brad gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

       Without hesitating any more, he sprinkles the magical not-salt over the freshly baked goods and waits.

       And nothing happens, and another laugh passes over his lips, but this one is full of relief and years of stress being expelled from his body in a single breath. He smiles and wraps an arm around both of their necks, pulling himself up onto the balls of his feet. He realizes that he’s crying, but at the moment he doesn’t care.

       “I did it,” he gasps out. “They’re not poisoned and I _cooked_. I _baked_ something.”

       “I knew you had it in you,” Brad tells him, pressing a kiss to his temple, while Kravitz tells him “I’m so proud of you” and kisses his cheek.

       Taako breaks down again, now that everything is cooked and cleaned and put away, but this time it’s different: this time he pulls them closer, unused to but basking in their support and love nonetheless.

       He allows himself a moment without negative thoughts, just one moment, and in that moment he thinks things might be turning around. In that moment he thinks he might be happy, and he’s going to do his damndest to hold onto that.


End file.
